I can't remember their times, but neither of them were
a: Escorted off in an ambulance
b: Escorted off by the police
c: Brutally gang-raped by men wearing rabbit hats
d: Wearing silly costumes
... so I was quite happy. And I spent the day hanging with my homie (for I, too, am a black man) the Oggmeister junior. Why junior? I don't know. We spent the day happily looking for Niketown (not Adidashamlet, which was a bit shittum looking), insulting my dress sense (look, just because my trainers have a silly amount of holes in them whereas yours are moulded of liquid titanium doesn't make me socially repellent) and dragging my little brother around. Also, we saw Abi, and Ogg was flirting madly. Which was bad. BAD OGG, BAD. SIT. Also revealed was the fact that he probably has a lot of x-rated pictures on his phone, which he didn't want to show us. However, I did manage to bluetooth-hack him (with my hacking skillz) and get one elusive picture. Surprise, surprise, it was one of Steve's tits:
For shame. For shaaaaame. No, but seriously, Steve, I hate you. You turned my lovely angry self injuring compass-in-arm jackass fiend Oggly into a happy, well balanced member of society. BOOO. He is now all smiley and IT IS YOUR FAULT, you hinged bitch.
But on the other hand, the Stoli (haha) relationship is pretty much the only one that I can stand amongst my friends. The Kroe relationship is a bit creepy for me; bordering as it does on peadophilia (yes, I know she's older than you, but Kris has the emotional age of a six year old), The Emmike one hasn't materialised and probably won't until Emma gives birth to her 6th black child, the Emmoli relationship ended in tears, The Emmaul relationship was creepy to the point of bunny-boiling, the Emomas relationship never even occurred, but I'm just adding it to this list to emphasise the vast number of 'em-' entries, the Poxy relationship will probably end in heartbreak, and as for the Tassie relationship, we have the chemistry of a dead golfish. In a fishtank. A frozen one. In antarctica. Buried under 5 tonnes of ice. In the middle of an ice cave. On a cold day.
But at least the Stoli relationship ticks the correct boxes in the 'not annoying Thomas that much' form:
1: They seem to actually have conversations, instead of looking at each other, giggling, then making out.
2: They don't make out very much when I'm around.
3: They don't tell me about it. Well, Oli did once, and I ferociously beat him with a length of garden hose for at least twenty minutes. Steve swallows apparently. Whoops, this is a public blog. This girl (www.stevenberry.blogspot.com) swallows. Lets all go to her blog and heckle her about it. Swallows what, though? I hope he meant ice-cream. NO, NOT ICE CREAM! Yeugh.
4: I'm allowed to sit and insult the female part of the relationship in front of the male for hours on end, then finish off by creating insulting pictures of her. Which is what I'm about to do soonish.
5: I can talk to both members of the reltionship AND THEY WON'T BRING THE OTHER MEMBER UP WITHOUT PRIOR INVITATIONAL MENTION. Thank GOD.
Then that got me thinking. What would happen if Steve and Oli, like, MATED? NO I DON'T MEAN THE ACTUAL BIOLOGY. Christ, are you people trying to kill me? I mean, what would the babies look like?
Then I saw the photoshop icon in the corner of my screen. Looking so inviting... so tempting... Screw it, I like Photoshop.
One problem. I didn't have a picture of Steve. Ah well, I just typed 'Steve' into Google and picked the first picture that popped up. They look sort of the same.
Aplogies to all those involved in this.
Hahhahahhaha. I'm so sorry for the parents of that baby, I have totally fucked their son/daughter/whatever up. Oh christ. And I hope that Steve Castor, a reasearch geologist whose specialities include geologic mapping, igneous petrology, mine geology, mineral exploration and ore petrology, never sets eyes on this page. Boy, he might get angry and lock me in a cave. Or a mine.
Hmm.
My parents ran a MOOrathon!
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